


The Casket Is Still Just Wood

by ShyAudacity



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Car Accidents, Established Relationship, Everyone Needs A Hug, Exhaustion, F/F, Hurt Jughead Jones, Hurt Veronica Lodge, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Magic, Only mentioned though, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pain, Resurrection, Spells & Enchantments, Temporary Character Death, Tenderness, Worried Archie Andrews, Worried Betty Cooper, slight AU but idk, will come back and make edits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-11-15 10:43:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20864897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyAudacity/pseuds/ShyAudacity
Summary: After a minute, Archie and Betty excuse themselves to go “talk” in the hallway, leaving you alone with Veronica. The day time TV show playing in the corner barely kicks out any sound. You look around the room, trying to make sense of everything that’s happened since you woke up in the middle of the street this morning.“What’s going on?” you ask Veronica, surprised you could even make the words come out.“Isn’t it obvious?” She says, raspier than you’ve ever heard her, “Wedied.”ORNine things on being brought back from the dead.





	1. Jughead.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this says "nine things" but it's going to be split into two parts ok thanks enjoy the fic. 
> 
> Unbeta'd and title from Grief Puppet by Donte Collins.

_Early this morning there was a vehicular accident involving pedestrians on Elm Street. Two teens Forsythe “Jughead” Jones and Veronica Lodge were crossing the street when they were both struck by a speeding car. When medics arrived, Jones was pronounced dead on the scene and Lodge later passed from her injuries at Riverdale General Hospital._

**You will be cold. **

You come to near the curb, lying stretched out on the blacktop in the space between two parked cars. The sky above you is grey and cloudy and branches from the trees above you are blocking what little sun there is. You can’t remember how you got here but it’s so goddamn _cold_ that you can’t think of anything else. You could’ve sworn it was supposed to in the seventies when you checked the weather this morning-

Wait. Do you know what day it is?

Archie appears next to you almost out of nowhere or maybe you just hadn’t noticed him until now. His figure is foggy and hard to focus on; there’s a dark line to your vision that isn’t usually there. He’s holding the back of your head in both of his hands, looking both in complete disbelief and full of fear. You haven’t seen your boyfriend look this scared in a while but you can’t figure out what he’s so freaked out about. Maybe it’s something you did. Maybe it’s the cold.

“Jughead?” he says shakily. “Jug, can you hear me?”

You don’t say anything to him only because you can’t. Because it’s too cold to speak and you couldn’t even if you wanted to.

What the hell happened to you?

**Your entire body will throb, the pain will eventually subside; being brought back is never a painless task. **

Archie presses a hand to your chest and _Oh God_ does everything hurt. It’s a wonder how you didn’t notice the ache before now, the way it reaches to all your fingers and toes. You must make a noise because Archie rips his hand away in a second, looking even more afraid. Instead of trying to touch you again, he pulls his phone out of his pocket, hands fumbling as they try to dial. Your eyelashes flutter as you look up at him; he hasn’t looked away from you for more than a second.

“Betty? Betty, he’s back. It _worked_.”

…What the hell?

You float away again before it can all make sense.

**Do not get up immediately, you will be nauseous and your body will need time to readjust (to this realm).**

Something is shaking or maybe it’s just you.

Archie rouses you again, far more panicked than he was before, and the nausea kicks in this time. Overwhelming and entirely too much. You groan audibly when Archie pulls your arms around his shoulders and hauls you inside, your chest pressed firmly against his; your feet drag across the ground the whole way. There’s a sharp, tingling pain that ignites everywhere that you’re being touched. Like your whole body fell asleep and is still trying to wake itself up.

Archie keeps talking to you the entire time like he needs it just to keep himself calm. “I got you, Jug,” he keeps saying, arms gripping your waist. “I got you, you’re okay. I’m right here.”

With how much you’re tremoring it’s a miracle that Archie doesn’t drop you. It’s like the cold has seeped into your nervous system and made you forget how to do anything except for shake. The next thing you know you’re in Archie’s room and being laid down on top of the covers, still wishing the whole world would stop spinning.

There is glow in the dark stars on the ceiling above Archie’s bed. You vaguely remember being six years old and bouncing here with Archie, trying to see who could jump the highest and reach them. Your arms never were quite long enough no matter how hard you tried. The stars float in your vision now, swirling around, getting closer only to back away a few seconds later.

You want to reach for them now- try and trap one in your hand- but trying to move doesn’t seem like a very good idea. One wrong move and you might fall off the edge of the bed- or maybe even the edge of the world. It’s hard to say either way.

Archie makes space for himself, sits cross-legged between you and the edge of the bed like he’s protecting you from any harm that may come.

You’ll have to thank him for it someday.

**Ask for more blankets, you will feel very cold.**

If you felt like you could make your arms work, you’d pull the duvet around yourself. But you can’t. So you don’t. The petrified look on Archie’s face won’t go away and you still can’t put your finger on it. All you do is shake and stutter over words that don’t even make sense and tuck your head into Archie’s leg because he looks like he might cry at any second. Maybe he already is. It’s hard to tell with the distracting way he keeps running his hand through your hair, smoothing it out again and again.

“Just take it easy, Jug.” Archie says quietly, “It’ll take a bit to get your strength back.”

Much to your dismay, you fall asleep before you can ask him what he means by that.

After a while the feeling passes, or the nausea does, at least. Once you’ve slept a couple hours Archie wakes you again, still shivering and cold as all hell. His touch doesn’t hurt as much this time. The gentle, warm feel of his hand seeps through your t-shirt, making you sigh. You manage to find his hand with your own cold one, loosely curling your fingers around his palm.

A part of you wants to kiss him, but you’re worried that might hurt, too.

“Betty called,” Archie says. “Ronnie woke up a few minutes ago- we should go see her.”

The statement doesn’t make any sense but you go along with it anyways. Archie helps you sit up and the world starts to spin again but it’s not as bad as before. You overestimate how strong you are because the second your feet touch the floor your legs turn to jelly. Archie gets an arm around your waist before you can hit the ground. You don’t know whether to be frightened or surprised by all of this, so you stick to staying quiet. That always did to work out better in your favor.

Down the stairs and all the way out to the truck, Archie keeps his arm around you, his free hand intertwined tightly with yours. All of your movements are tottery and slow; it’s a struggle to keep your feet from dragging against the ground.

You space out while Archie drives, still feeling like you need another two hours of sleep, and you end up more than one kind of confused when Archie pulls up to Riverdale General Hospital. Didn’t he say you were going to see Veronica- what the hell are you doing here?

“C’mon,” Archie says, magically appearing next to you outside of the car and reaching over to unbuckle your seat. “We should get in there before Veronica falls asleep again.”

He pulls your arm over his shoulder before you can ask him about any of it. You try not to groan when Archie moves too quick for your liking, but it comes out anyway. The pain in your chest is back, making it hard to breathe; you ache with every step.

“Sorry, Jug- was trying to avoid getting seen by the nurses.” 

The _why the hell would we need to do that_ rings through your head but doesn’t make its way out of your mouth. Archie ducks inside of a room on your left and your confusion only doubles when you see _Veronica_ in a hospital bed, looking pale and rough around the edges in every way. Betty is there too, sitting at Veronica’s bedside, both of her hands holding onto one of Veronica’s.

You look up at Veronica, trying to find some clarity to this whole thing but you come up with nothing. Veronica looks like she’s still trying to piece everything together herself. Her eyes rove over you very specifically and you suddenly feel trapped under a microscope. 

Archie helps you sit in the other chair next to Veronica’s bed and then leans over the side of the bed to hug Veronica. There’s a solemn feeling in the air, hanging over all of their heads and you would really love to know why its there.

Betty drops Veronica’s hand in favor of coming over to wrap her arms around your neck, bending at the waist so that you don’t have to get up. Her eyes are watery when she pulls away from you; Betty wipes her cheeks with her fingers then grips your shoulder. She looks like she hasn’t slept in three days.

Shakily, she says, “I’m really glad that you’re okay, Jughead.” 

Why wouldn’t you be okay?

After a minute, Archie and Betty excuse themselves to go “talk” in the hallway, leaving you alone with Veronica. The day time TV show playing in the corner barely kicks out any sound. You look around the room, trying to make sense of everything that’s happened since you woke up in the middle of the street this morning.

“What’s going on?” you ask Veronica, surprised you could even make the words come out.

“Isn’t it obvious?” She says, raspier than you’ve ever heard her, “We _died_.”

Goosebumps break out over your whole body. You want so badly to refute it, to get up and say_ no way. You’re wrong, that can’t be true-._

But then you remember where you are and how righteously awful you felt this morning. How it felt like the earth had swallowed you whole and then spit you back out piece by piece all while laughing in your face. A splitting pain shoots through the base of your skull and you just barely manage to hold back the wince.

Veronica looks both afraid _and_ pissed off so you know she’s not lying about this; everything still hurts and none of it makes sense so on a whim you gesture to the bed and say, “Got room for two in there?”

She scoots over as much as she can without causing any of her own discomfort and you nestle in next to her, lying on your side and your head on Veronica’s shoulder.

You start to ask, “Do you-

“No, Jughead,” she says immediately, tone frightened and firm. “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Okay,” you mutter. Veronica rests her cheek against the top of your head. Your hands are still shaking when you drape one across Veronica’s stomach- the closest you can get to giving a hug right now- and she places her own cold hand on top of yours. It’s grounding in a good way. 

After a few minutes, she says, “I wish none of this had ever happened to us,” but you doze off before you can really say anything about it. 

It’s hard to say how long you’ve been asleep when Archie and Betty finally come back into the room. They’ve both got a blanket for you and Veronica; you refute it despite the constant tremor running through your bones. You figure that it’s pointless anyway.

A few minutes later, Archie decides it’s time that you both went home and starts bidding the girls farewell, holding on extra tight as he goes. You’re slow detaching yourself from Veronica’s side and for a second it seems like she’s never going to let go of your hand.

Once you’re sitting up again Betty comes and hugs you but at least she’s not crying this time. She kisses your forehead before you leave, her gentle hand cradling your cheek and for whatever reason this makes your throat close up. It finally feels like it's your turn to cry, but you don’t. This day is already weird enough as it is and the last thing you want is more attention brought on yourself.

You still can’t make sense of anything.

**You will not remember how you died, do not ask.**

Archie takes a shortcut to get home in half the time. You are slightly less foggy in the car than you were before and something about this street- that spot in front of Archie’s house where you were lying earlier feels all too familiar. But it’s like a dream you had as a child, only pieces of it come back to you now and none of them fit together no matter how much you try.

“Veronica said we died.” You state flatly and you’re _sure_ that Archie goes deer in headlights, pale in the face when you do even if you’re not looking at him.

“Did she say how?” You shake your head and he says, “Good… Sabrina said it was best that you don’t know. Bad luck, or something like that.”

You wonder who the hell Sabrina is but don’t bother to ask because you’re already here.

**Thank the practitioner and let them be on their way, if they do not look you in the eye consider this a bad omen.**

Some bright, blonde-haired girl is there standing in the foyer when you get back to Archie’s, like she let herself in somehow. Archie doesn’t seem bothered by this in the slightest.

“Oh- hey. Sorry, I didn’t know you were coming by.”

“It’s okay, Archie; it’s customary to check-in after- well, you know.”

The two of them keep talking about things you don’t understand, only using vague sentences, always skirting around the issue so you tune out again for favor of going up to bed. Archie doesn’t follow you right away and in an odd sense. you’re grateful for it. This is the only bit of alone time you’ve had all day aside from that split second before Archie appeared over you in the street and for once the quiet surrounding you doesn’t feel like its holding onto to all of your impending doom.

By some strange miracle, your knees make it all the way to Archie’s bedroom before they start to fail you. You grip onto the end of the bed frame as you crawl into his bed, breathing deeply for the first time all day once you’ve laid flat on your back. You close your eyes, telling yourself it’ll only be for a minute, that a little more sleep is all you need to feel like yourself again.

The girl and Archie are in the room with you when you open your eyes again, leering over you like a pair of children who want something. You blink a few times, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, saying, “Hey?”

The girl, Sabrina, you presume, asks “How are you feeling, Jughead?”

_Hollow_, you think. _Like I fell asleep in one place, woke up somewhere else and forget part of myself along the way._ But you don’t say any of that; you wouldn’t want to scare Archie more than he already is. So you say, “Tired, mostly.”

“That’s normal,” she says. “Just give it some time, it’ll take a few days to feel like yourself again.”

Sabrina averts her eyes every time you look her way so that’s how you know she’s lying; there’s something she’s not telling you and you’re really trying to not let that bother you. 

You only halfway listen as she keeps talking to Archie. She says things like, _let him sleep as much as he wants. I know it probably seems frightening but it’s part of the healing process._ To which Archie says _you’re sure no one will remember any of this?_ And you could be wrong but you swear you feel your stomach bottom out when Sabrina says, _by tomorrow morning it’ll be like none of this ever happened. _

You interrupt, “Like _what_ never happened?” and it’s the loudest sound you’ve made all day, it startles both of them. Archie blanches when he looks over at you, like he’d forgotten you were sitting there to begin with. Neither one of them answers your question, just shuffle awkwardly so you say, “Never mind. Forget I asked.”

Later, well after Sabrina is gone and you’re both in bed, you quietly ask, “What did she do, Arch?”

From your right, holding you so, so gently, he answers, “She brought you home, Jughead… she brought you back.”

And as minorly relieved as Archie sounds you can’t help but to think that maybe there’s something wrong in all of this. Like maybe there’s something no one is telling you, but you’re too exhausted and afraid to dare ask what it is.

You curl into Archie’s side even more when his free arm comes around your waist, still using his outstretched arm as a pillow. You look up at the stars on the ceiling again, thinking about Archie’s words and wonder what _other place_ you were headed to before Sabrina “brought you back.”

And as much as you hate it, you’re starting to think that maybe that other place isn’t as out of reach as you would like to believe it is. Like maybe that place is lurking around the corner, just waiting for you to make the wrong move so it can suck you in again- for good, this time.

_Please_, you think, desperately hoping someone or something can hear you. _Please, whatever happens just leave Archie be. Let him get out of this in one piece. Don’t let me hurt him again._

Despite being exhausted all damn day, you can’t seem to sleep now. You can’t stop thinking about Sabrina and everything that she said, how stiffly she held herself in your presence, how specifically she chose her words-

She didn’t look you in the eye even _once_. 


	2. Veronica.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don’t realize you’re screaming until someone tries to shut you up. The shrieking fills the room even after you’ve stopped- the echo of it filling the space.
> 
> Betty has her arms around you before you can do anything about it. It doesn’t matter that your eyes aren’t open- you already know it’s her. You’d know her touch anywhere by now; her gentleness has always been one of your favorite things about her. It’s a miracle that she doesn’t let go of you or lose her grip with how badly you’re shaking.

**You will wake up screaming, you all do.**

You don’t realize you’re screaming until someone tries to shut you up. The shrieking fills the room even after you’ve stopped- the echo of it filling the space.

Betty has her arms around you before you can do anything about it. It doesn’t matter that your eyes aren’t open- you already know it’s her. You’d know her touch anywhere by now; her gentleness has always been one of your favorite things about her. It’s a miracle that she doesn’t let go of you or lose her grip with how badly you’re shaking. 

Your throat is raw from the screaming. It feels like you swallowed glass. Like all the air around you has just decided to let you enjoy it again. You grasp at the stiff bed sheets and your fingers feel like icicles; your face finds Betty’s neck and the whole room is spinning. Everything smells like disinfectant and other cleaning products.

That’s odd. You could’ve sworn the cleaning lady was just here not two days ago. It shouldn’t still smell like this.

Almost every breath you take catches in your throat, stuttering over itself and the one after it. Thank god Betty is here or-

“It’s okay. _Shhhh_. You’re okay, Veronica. I’m here. We’re at the hospital, but you’re fine. I promise, you’re fine, please stop crying.”

Huh?

You finally open your eyes are realize Betty’s telling the truth. This isn’t your bedroom. You’re in a cramped hospital room that could make a Riverdale high classroom look like a mansion. The chairs on either side of the room look like they just barely fit. Your head feels heavier than normal when you try to lift it from Betty’s collarbone. Your whole body feels like it’s still asleep.

“I don’t,” you croak, a poor attempt at sounding strong, “I don’t understand.” 

“Just relax, V.” Betty says, “We can talk about things later.”

Your mother isn’t here and you don’t dare ask why that is- for fear of the answer and everything else.

**Ask for more blankets, you will feel very cold. **

As much as you try to sleep again- or whatever it was that you were doing before- you can’t seem to. The ice in your stomach feels like it’s never going to go away. There’s a screeching in your ears that won’t let up but you can’t place where it’s coming from. If only you could remember what you were dreaming about before then maybe some of this would make sense.

If only you could remember why you’re here to begin with.

“I should call Archie,” Betty says out of nowhere, getting out of bed. “He’ll want to know that you’re back.”

That phrasing makes your skin crawl; it’s too on the nose to not mean something. “Back?” You repeat.

Her eyes go wide like she said the wrong thing. “Awake, I meant,” Betty quickly says. “He’ll want to know you’re awake.” 

You don’t say anything else about it. Something about the look in Betty’s eye- the underlying panic that she’s holding there- gives you the impression that there’s something bigger going on here. Something she isn’t telling you about.

_Why is she acting so skittish? It’s like somebody d-_

You stop that thought before you finish it, a stinging pain in your chest making it hard to breathe again. As curious as you are about all of this, you’d rather not hurt right now. You look down at the IV taped to the back of your hand- sure that it’s morphine or something else that’s flowing through your veins.

Maybe _that’s_ why everything feels so hazy and out of place.

Betty comes back in the room a few seconds later looking only slightly relieved but she still manages a smile when she sees you looking at her. She sits to your right again, closing both of her hands around your own. Her thumb rubs over your knuckles like she’s trying to remove the cold somehow.

You let your head drop back onto your pillow, the heaviness of your whole body making you feel like you could sink into the mattress and never come out.

“V? …Babe, are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, “Just tired. Can I have another blanket?”

Betty goes to the small closet against the wall and pulls out a white, tight-knit blanket and drapes it over your legs. It does nothing to drive the cold away. 

In an odd way, that feels like the least of your worries right now.

**You will not remember how you died, do not ask.**

It’s another twenty minutes before the door opens again. Archie shuts the door behind him as soon as he’s got both feet in the room; Jughead is draped over Archie’s shoulder, looking like he’s been run over by a _semi_. His face gaunt and there’s a horrifying, faraway look in his eye. You start to add things up as you look him, making a mental note with all of the other details you’ve already been given.

_Jughead looks two seconds from keeling over and I’m in a hospital bed- who the hell did this to us? How are we still here? We should be-_

_No. No that can’t be it. _

Archie helps Jughead move to the chair on the left side of your bed and you only look away from Jughead to give Archie attention. You give him as much of a hug as you can muster up when he leans over the bed and wraps his arms around you. His hand lingers on your shoulder and for a second, you think he’s about to tell you everything- but he doesn’t. He averts his eyes completely and you’re still left to figure everything out for yourself. 

Jughead looks stiff and all kinds of confused when Betty comes over to hug him. You don’t miss it when she says, “I’m really glad that you’re okay, Jughead,” and now you’re _sure_ that both of you should be dead. Or maybe you already were. You’d rather not dwell on it.

_Who did this to us?_

Archie and Betty leave a few minutes later with a half-assed excuse and now you’re alone with Jughead. His hands shake against the arms of the chair he’s in. He looks around the room like he’s trying to find his sense of peace somehow, but you know he’s not going to find it.

“What’s going on?” He asks, sounding like he got the wind knocked out of him and still hasn’t caught his breath. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” You say, trying to keep your voice from shaking too much. “We _died_.”

His eyes go wide, filling with fear and everything in you wants to take it back. But you can’t. You can already see the gears turning over in his head, the features of his face going stony as he processes this new information.

You can’t decide whether to be afraid or simply pissed off about all of this, so you settle on something in between, letting it simmer in the bottom of your stomach.

After a beat- after the glossy look in his eyes finally starts to leave, Jughead gestures to the bed and asks, “Got room for two in there?”

You scoot over as much as you can, ignoring the burst of an all-over dull ache that flares up when you do; morphine can only do so much, it turns out. Jughead grips onto the bed before he stands then squeezes in next to you; he barely fits but he doesn’t seem to care much. The two of you have never been that close but you’d bet everything you own that he’s the only one in all of Riverdale who could even come _close_ to understanding how you feel right now.

He starts to ask, “Do you-

You cut him off immediately. Too afraid to hear the question. “_No_, Jughead. I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Okay,” he mutters. His compliance to silence makes you uneasy with how un-Jughead like it is, but you don’t say anything about it. Today is not the day to pick a fight with him. You know that.

You rest your head against Jughead’s own when it drops to your shoulder. When his arm lays over your stomach, you rest your hand over Jughead’s, looking for a solid place to land in all of this mess.

After a few minutes, you whisper, “I wish none of this had ever happened to us.” Looking down, you find Jughead nodding off on your shoulder, his eyes fluttering periodically. For just a second you consider rousing him and saying _how can you sleep right now don’t you want to know what happened to us? Aren’t you furious- _but you don’t. You’d hate to take away his peace in a time like this.

You’ve lost track of how much time has passed when Archie and Betty come back into the room, both of them holding blankets, and you feel Jughead start to rouse where he’s still on your shoulder. You take the blanket from Betty; Jughead refuses his even though you’re sure you heard his teeth chattering a second ago.

Archie makes a comment about it getting late and your eyes fall to the clock on the wall; it’s barely a quarter to four. You bite your tongue when he hugs you again, wanting more than anything to call him out on all of this. To demand answers before he goes out that door again.

Your heart leaps into your throat as you watch Jughead struggle to pull himself out of the bed. It takes you a minute to let go of his hand- a sick voice saying that he’ll slip away again if you do-. 

Everything feels so goddamn out of place and you can’t stand it.

**Your loved ones will be ecstatic to have you back, consider this a blessing.**

Betty won’t stop kissing you or crying; like she can’t help it even if she wanted to. Her eyes go shiny every time that she looks at you. You wanna ask- but you’d hate to upset her more. It feels like you’re in on some big secret, but despite being at the root of everything you still don’t know anything.

“I noticed Jughead looking a little worse for the wear,” you say, feeling Betty stiffen behind you. “Is he okay?”

You can practically hear her scrambling to find an answer.

“Yeah, he just- had a nasty case of the flu. Archie said he should be fine in a couple of days.”

_That was a bad lie- even for you, B. _“Okay… Betty?”

“Yeah?”

You stall, daring yourself to ask what you already know to be true. The _how long was I dead_ sits heavy on your tongue, but instead you say:

“When can I go home?”

Betty relaxes behind you. “Tomorrow. I promise.”

After that, you just nod and stay silent. There’s nothing that you or anyone else can say that will snap of fingers blink of an eye make sense of all of this. So you don’t say anything about it.

You’d hate to make this worse somehow. 

**Do not ask the practitioner how they performed the ritual, this is considered bad luck and you will not last long. **

A guy that you’ve never seen before in your whole life walks in with a grin so smug that he looks like something from out of a movie. Maybe a fairy tale. Maybe a nightmare. He’s both a sight for sore eyes and the last thing that you want to see right now; it’s annoying how he directs all of his questions and attention to Betty.

After god knows how long of glaring at the side of his head, he finally looks over at you and for one reason or another your throat closes up. He holds his hand out then says, “Forgive me, I wasn’t raised with manners- I’m Nicholas Scratch. You can call me Nick.”

You almost roll your eyes. _Of course,_ his name would be Nick.

The conversation continues without you. Nick says a bunch of magical jargon that doesn’t make much sense- is he being serious right now? Is Betty really _listening_ to him?

All you really want to do is fall asleep and wake up when it’s time to be discharged. You look down at the IV taped to your hand; maybe you can take some of this morphine home and-

Betty’s nervous voice pulls you back to the situation at hand. “V? Babe, are you listening?”

You realize you haven’t been paying attention and now both of them are staring. You muster a quiet “Yes,” and, then look away again. One of them says something about recovery time or the accident or anything and the “How-?” comes out of your mouth before you can stop it.

At the look of their mortified faces, you swallow the question and instead say: “How long till I feel like myself again?”

Nick’s shoulders relax. He rubs his palms together. “Give it a few days. Most people say that it takes some time to get their bearings back.”

“Most people? What do you mean most people? How is this-.”

“That’s probably enough for one day, don’t you think, Nick?” Betty says in a rush, like she’s trying to get him out of there before he says something else, something that would give away whatever the rest of this _situation_ is.

“Right, I should get going anyway. Sabrina is probably waiting for me.”

_Who the hell is Sabrina? What does she have to do with all of this? _

If you don’t get an answer to all these questions sooner than later then you might just _combust_.

**Thank the practitioner and let them be on their way, if they do not look you in the eye consider this a bad omen. **

After a coughing fit nearly takes you out for good, your legs are in Betty’s lap and your head on her shoulder, just trying to focus on breathing. Nick hovers next to the bed for a minute, his hands twitching as if he plans to do something to help you.

_What more you could possibly do? You already brought me back from the-_

You push the thought away, worried that you might choke or start to hurt again. Betty thanks him on behalf of both of you; she sounds both grateful and exhausted and you hate to think that you played a part in all of that somehow.

“Of course,” Nick says. “Anything for a friend of Sabrina’s.” 

Nick looks back and winks at you on his way out the door and you ignore the tight feeling in your throat, telling yourself that this will be fine. Everything will be fine- it has to be.

There’s no other option when it comes to you and Betty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey thanks for reading! Comments/Kudos are appreciated and encouraged. Have a great day!


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